


In such capital kind

by Huzuzu470



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Alternate universe - Mafia, Guns, M/M, Violence, it is there though, the mike/zoe is more background so if that's why you're here I'm sorry lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huzuzu470/pseuds/Huzuzu470
Summary: Erwin Smith is unquestionably and completely unparalleled in his control of the alcohol trade. He supplies all the largest underground bars, ruthless and cunning in evading law enforcement each time they come after him.And Levi? Levi wants in.(AU where Erwin runs a prohibition-era mafia gang, and Levi is hired to fix that.)
Relationships: Hange Zoë/Mike Zacharias, Levi/Erwin Smith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	1. Introduction

The bar was full of smoke.

It wouldn’t usually have bothered Erwin, but when it was this crowded, it did. He can feel it scratching his throat as he weaves between the patrons and makes his way to the counter, his headache building in intensity as the thrumming of the crowd beats in on his skull. He's beginning to wonder if he's turning into an old man, pausing for a second to imagine himself with greyed hair. It's not the worst mental image, to be totally honest.

“Grasshopper,” he orders the bartender. “Two of them.” A purse of silver coins lands on the tabletop. The bartender pulls out a few coins, counts them in front of Erwin, and pushes the sack back across the table, disappearing behind the bar. Erwin tucks it away, sighing.

“Drinking on the job?” Hanji smirks next to him. He returns the grin.

“Business can be mixed with pleasure, if you do it right,” he states simply. He pulls a metal case from his breast coat pocket, and sparks the cigar without a second thought. It doesn’t lessen the itch in his airway, but the familiar taste of tobacco rolling over his tongue makes it slightly more palatable to bear. "And with what we're here for, we want Reeves to feel at home."

Hanji shakes their head when he offers the cigar. He shrugs, sliding his gaze back to the bar and tapping the fine layer of ash on the end of it up against the tray set out. The bartender returns, holding their drinks, and Hanji quirks an eyebrow upwards at the second one.

“I ordered you one, too,” he says.

The corner of their lip twitches up in response. “You spoil me.” He knows they don't drink much, but the occasional gesture goes a long way, even if not completely perfect in its thinking.

He doesn’t reply. He's scanning the crowd, and his eyes drift to a round figure at the back of the bar, clad in a deep navy suit. A false smile sits on his lips, and he turns and nods at Hanji, grabbing his glass. “Follow my lead,” he instructs, and they dip their head in response, moving through the crowd after him.

The man approaches with his hand outstretched. “Erwin Smith!” he beams, “I haven’t seen you in a full year!”

“Flegel.” Erwin acknowledges him evenly. His tone is silky, ignoring the hand he’s presented with. “You should be more careful with who you let into your establishment,” he warns, lifting an eyebrow and gesturing around them. “I’ve noticed some… less savoury types around tonight.” 

“Business is booming, my friend,” Flegel replies. “Look around you. We haven’t had so many customers since before they passed those blasted restrictions!”

Hanji grumbles something under their breath. They falter when Erwin lifts a hand though, falling back into place. “I’m sure. But perhaps a more selective approach could more reliably,” he pauses, glancing around them, “maintain discretion, if you will.” The tip of his cigar flares red as he inhales.

“Relax,” Flegel says. “I promise you, security is always our priority.”

Hanji flinches in the silence that follows. Their working eye darts back and forth in its socket, like a nervous horse, the glass one fixed eerily in place. Normally, Erwin would respond to the comment directly, but something about today stops him. He looks around them, the crush of people, the heat, the noise, and finally settles back on Flegel. Some quiet, irritated noise rumbles deep in his throat.

“I hear you’ve found a new procurer, Mr. Reeves,” he says, and the glow of warmth in Flegel’s face evaporates.

“Ah,” he says, “so you’re here for business then.” He pauses and strokes his chin, neck fat jiggling. “We thought you were dead, Smith. I had my own things to keep afloat.”

“You thought wrong.” His voice is cold steel. “It may have been worth asking my associate here,” he adds, gesturing to his left, “for provisions instead. I’m sure they could have provided you with something adequate while I found my way out of the mess I was in.” Flegel’s eyes flicker to the revolver strapped at Erwin’s waist, his relaxed poise wavering. Erwin follows him, and chuckles when he realizes where he’s staring. As though he’d come to start a fight, alone like this.

“This? Relax,” he says, patting the gun. “This isn’t for you.” There’s a noise as the safety clicks off, Erwin’s lips pull back, showing his teeth in something that is decidedly not quite a smile. A man crashes into a chair at the table next to them, shouting something at his companions with the patent slur of someone who is far too obnoxiously drunk.

“Erwin,” Hanji warns, and he looks back at them. “Time.” 

He drains his drink without a second thought, wrinkling his nose at the sting, and places the glass down on the nearest table. Hanji places their half-empty glass behind it, not bothering to finish. There's something lingering in the aftertaste of it, bitter and unpleasant, and Erwin is almost glad to say he knows that the product didn't come from his providing. The alcohol is low quality, at best.

“I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure,” Erwin says, his tone flat. "Good evening, Mr. Reeves.” He turns to walk away, placing the cigar between his lips. “I don’t think we’ll be meeting soon again.”

“Smith,” Flegel calls after the two retreating figures, “what the hell is that supposed to mean? Smith!”

The lights flick off as he’s shouting, the patrons going silent in shock before breaking into a panicked rush for the doors, screeching amongst each other. Erwin knows that noise, they're animals that know they've been cornered, each trying for a last ditch attempt to claw their way loose. He and Hanji beeline for the back of the room instead, where three windows line the wall. 

Hanji covers their fist with a handkerchief, and, using the butt of their gun, smashes the nearest window, the crash blending with the screams of the customers. They kick in the remaining glass, shards lodging into the thick leather of their boots, then stand back. Erwin jumps out first, his shoes landing flat against the iron grate of the fire escape. 

By time they’re out, the main doors shudder and give way, law enforcement shouting for calm. Erwin hears two gunshots. More follow, but they pay no mind, swiftly descending the stairs and disappearing into the night.

* * *

It’s nearing dawn when the two of them arrive back at the shop, Hanji driving the truck into the loading bay. They jump down, feet hitting the pavement, and Erwin follows, stepping out from the backseat. The sky is overcast, grey blotchy clouds rolling in.

Mike looks up at them as they walk past, Floch at his side. He’s polishing a shotgun, bored, his eyes lingering over the blood leaking down Hanji’s forearm as they come in. 

“Did you get shot?” The question comes out roughly, bordering judgemental.

“Broke a window on the way out,” Erwin says, breezing by. He thinks it might be one of the few times that Mike has shown obvious disdain.

“That’s what you get for going there just to gloat,” Mike mutters, and Erwin shoots him an unimpressed look, gaze pointedly shifting from him to Floch, and back again. One of his eyebrows shoots up, as if to say _Really? You’re gonna do this in front of the new recruit?_

Mike shrugs. “I’m right.” 

“We need to make our point, in these situations. I don’t care who’s right,” Erwin proclaims, stifling his irritation as much as he can. “If Reeves survives, he’s a witness to that. If he doesn’t, well.”

Hanji tries to avoid both of them and slink by, but Mike catches the hem of their trench coat. “Let me see it,” he offers gently, taking the arm into his hands, putting down the rifle and opening a toolbox on the floor. It’s full of first aid supplies. 

They grunt, but sit anyways, reluctance written across their expression. Mike picks out the glass with a pair of tweezers. Erwin has seen it before, the tenderness, the way Mike holds their arm like it’s fragile, but he’s never thought anything much of it. He’s written it off as camaraderie, maybe a one-sided crush at most. But there is something about the interactions, an unwritten trust that he almost envies. He looks at his own palm, brown crust forming over the cut from placing his hand on the shattered window frame.

“You should have taken me instead,” Mike hisses. 

There's no hesitation in his answer. “You don’t bring your gunman to parties.” The reply is simple, but adequate enough that Mike only houghs in disagreement.

Floch sits next to the two seniors, watching them. Erwin pauses next to him, pats him on the shoulder, and Floch jolts back, looking up.

“Thank you for dropping the tip at the station for us. Clearly, they took the bait,”

He turns red at the attention of his superior, his ears flushing. “It was nothing,” he says. 

Erwin goes to walk through the door, hesitating to watch as Mike gingerly covers Hanji’s cuts in gauze. He wraps clockwise, dabbing the deeper gashes with a cotton ball soaked in some kind of antibacterial ointment. 

“Mike?” he says, taking off his hat and placing it on the stack of boxes next to the door

Mike looks at him and grunts.

“Make me some tea, when you’re done.” he orders, disappearing into the building.


	2. Chapter 2

He watches the huge, hulking figure in front of him stand completely still, his blond hair wispy in the evening air. His own bangs fall against his face, cold little pinpricks on his skin where the water stings his cheeks and forehead.

Levi knows his name. He's waiting for the right moment to come to jump out of the shadows at him.

Erwin waits himself, watching the darkness with a keen kind of energy about him, lips curled up into a whisper of a smile. He stands on the edge of a bridge and stares out into the black night with a sort of fixed determination, the pitter of water on the stones and across the brim of his hat not seeming to bother him much. It's not rain — Levi wouldn't call it rain, at least, — but the air hangs thick with mist, enough that it soaks through Levi's jacket and makes him shiver against the brick wall he's crouched behind, his leg cramping slightly. Patience was the name of the game for him, right now, no matter how much he wishes they would hurry up. 

"I can tell you're there, you know."

Erwin's voice is deep, powerful, a man who knows his authority and is not afraid of using it. Levi jumps instinctively at the sound, before he realizes that it isn't actually addressed at him.

He watches the other man emerge from the shadow of the forest cover by the bank and creep his way to Erwin's side like a lost dog, light hair mussed by the wind, nose twitching under the streetlamp as he steps into the halo of light. There's a shotgun strapped to his back, his body tense with muscle.

Erwin sighs, long and pointed. "I told you to stay back," he says to him.

The man grumbles, mutters something that Levi can't hear. He cranes his neck forwards, trying to make out the words.

"...didn't want you to go alone," he's saying, then something else inaudible. He tips his hat down, looks away so Levi can't make out his face anymore, his figure silhouetted in two tones, blue and black under the glow of the moon, ashy yellow in the streetlights. Erwin laughs.

"You know I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, Mike," he says. A silence falls between the two men, and Levi waits to see what happens next, expecting some kind of retribution for the man who disobeyed what was seemingly a direct order, from the way Erwin is speaking. He's curious to see what that might be.

Instead, Erwin extends a hand that Mike clasps tightly, elbows locked together. A curl of smoke licks past the brim of his hat, wafting gently from the cigar perched in his mouth. The gesture is clearly a symbol of utmost trust, in the way their eyes meet, staring each other down solemnly.

"But I'm glad to have you here," he says instead. Mike nods back seriously. "Stand with me. He'll be here soon."

Levi watches the two, the birds fluttering to and from the trees overhead. He's tempted to light his own cigarette, the nicotine itch coming hard after hours of following Smith through town. It can wait, he reminds himself. He'll have all the time in the world to smoke once he gets this job right.

Erwin stiffens when a third man walks across the bridge towards them, the large brim of his hat tilted downwards as a drop of rain trickles down the rim, following the movement before falling to the floor. Levi can see Erwin reach for the revolver behind his waist, the safety flicking off with a quiet _click_ noise. He can't help but admire the fluidity of the motion, smooth and controlled enough that if he hadn't seen the gun strapped to his lower back, he would have assumed Erwin had been adjusting his belt.

Mike's teeth bare into a growl. The third man pauses, glances at him, his expression almost amused when he realizes what's happened.

"Erwin," he tuts softly, mockingly, "you don't trust me enough to leave your guard dog home? I did ask you to come alone."

Erwin leaves a second hanging in the air, tilts his head slightly as though considering the words directed at him before smiling evenly.

"It's good to see you, Kenny," he says, and Levi's eyes widen in surprise. If Kenny was here himself, then —

The realization hits Levi all at once blood running cold at the thought. He's probably not the only other person watching their exchange.

Erwin continues speaking, completely undisturbed by the fact that he's standing in front of Kenny the Ripper, one of the single most feared and wanted men in the South. "You wished to talk, correct? I see no problem in bringing my second in command with me. He and I will need to confer later based on what you have to offer us, so I'd rather he hear it firsthand."

Kenny laughs, a dry, bitter sound. "Have it your way," he says, and shrugs. "I _am_ here to make a proposal, after all."

An eyebrow hikes its way up Erwin's forehead. "Do tell."

"Oh, I intend to," Kenny smirks. There's no warmth in his smile, nothing more than the toothy, alligator-grin of a prehistoric creature. He walks a tight circle around them, his eyes tracing over Erwin's body carefully. "You've gone after my turf again, Smith."

Erwin doesn't so much as turn his head to follow Kenny's movements. "I believe what I've actually done is terminate a contract with one of _my_ people."

"Semantics," Kenny snorts from behind them. Levi can see that even though his head hasn't moved, Mike's eye has swiveled back as far as it can in his skull to follow Kenny, his gaze even and unwielding, like an injured panther would watch a hunter lift his gun. "Flegel was in my supply line for months before you rose up from the dead again. Where were you anyways?"

"I find that information is likely irrelevant to your grievance," Erwin replies.

Kenny laughs from behind them, and then pauses just as fast, noticing the revolver. He reaches over to pick the gun out of his waistband, coming around again and holding it out to Erwin. 

"Six months is a hell of a long time, you'll find," he says softly. "Long enough you forgot the rules of parlay, it seems."

The air is thick with electricity as the two stare at each other, neither breaking their gaze as Erwin reaches out and carefully takes back his revolver.

Mike sniffs the air and reaches for his shotgun himself, clearly on edge. "Like shit this is a _parlay,_ Ackerman." He stares down the barrel, pointed straight at Kenny's chest, and snarls, "Pull your fucking goons out of the shadows and face us with some _dignity."_

"Mike," Erwin warns.

The tone is enough that the shotgun lowers slightly at the single word, but Mike's finger is still resting on the trigger as he grunts. "I can smell them. Almost a dozen, just across the bridge."

"Muzzle your dog before I kick it, Erwin," Kenny says, almost bored, and Mike growls again, gun cocked back upwards. He shrugs and pulls a gun from his own belt twirling it around his finger idly. "You want my proposal, or not?"

Erwin's eyes flicker between Mike and the gun, the thin mist giving way to a gentle rain as he does. Water drips from the lamps, the babble of the river under the bridge muffled by quiet raindrops breaking the surface.

"You're right, Mike," he says carefully, eyes still trained on Kenny. "This was never truly a parlay."

Levi hardly has the time to register what's happening before four of Erwin's men rush out from under the bridge, Erwin fleeing in the opposite direction as they lunge at Kenny, shots ringing in his ears. He sees Kenny's own men come charging over the river, the smell of gunpowder strong and burning in his nose as he chases after Erwin, screaming echoing in the night behind him, hears a wet sound as someone goes crashing off the bridge into the depths below.

Erwin zig-zags between streets, runs a solid ten blocks, dashing through alleyways and backyards until he turns a final time into a dimly-lit side alley. The light sound of Levi's own panting and a metal fumbling noise as Mike tries to find his car key is the only noise on the entire street. If Levi listens closer, listens under the layer of crickets and the pounding of his own heart and the gunshots he can still hear in the distance —

 _"Shit_ ," he mutters, and jumps out into the light.

He watches Erwin's mouth fall open slightly in surprise, watches as Mike seems to raise his gun in slow motion at him, but he's too slow. Levi already has his gun ready, the barrel lifted to shoot —

The bullet whizzes over Erwin's shoulder and bites into the flesh of Kenny's man behind him, gun still pointed slightly to the ground. Levi can hear him gurgling in surprise, the shot probably catching him in the lung, before he collapses on the floor. He'd barely had the time to draw his gun.

In turn, Levi hardly has the time to duck behind another car before the glass of the windows on it shatter loudly, the crack of the shotgun loud enough to make the very air around him tremble.

"You _fucking_ idiot!" Levi shouts over the pop of gunpowder. Mike fires the second round into the metal of the car, and reloads.

"You better have a _damn_ good explanation, you _fuckin'_ gutter rat _,_ " Mike threatens loudly, his voice practically a roar.

 _"Fuck_ you," Levi hisses right back, and Mike lifts an eyebrow. He hadn't been expecting that, it seemed. Levi groans loudly, letting his skull fall back against the metal of the car with a _thunk._ "Check the goddamn hat. He's one of them. Was probably waiting here to hit you when you got to the car."

Sure enough, on the underside of the brim, there's a tiny pin shaped like a _K_ , and Mike grunts. He drops the hat, gliding gently to the floor, and grunts. He opens the passenger door for Erwin. As soon as he's safely inside, Mike slams the door shut and swoops in to tower over Levi, grabbing him by the collar.

"How long were you there?" he demands. Levi chokes slightly, from the force of the fabric tugged taut around his neck, his teeth grit stubbornly.

"Mike," Erwin interrupts, car window cranked down. "Enough. Put him in the backseat." His eyes flicker over Levi briefly. "If he wanted to kill me, he would have."

Mike's face is caught in a snarl, but the hold on Levi's neck seems to slacken a little at the order. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, Levi still staring defiantly back at him, before he drops him to the ground and turns away. He takes a second to catch his breath, panting like an animal, staring back up at the scruffy blond man looming over him.

"Get in, if you don't want to get shot by whoever else has been following us," Mike orders, and Levi stumbles his way to the car, flings the door open and climbs inside. The engine roars to life, and the old truck screeches down the street, gunfire growing more and more distant as they get further from the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn am I alive? the answer is yes, vaguely.  
> short chapter, to get the ball rolling in the story again.


End file.
